Rage Against The Latrine Ch 06

In December, I wrote a short 3,000 word story about a female punk rock singer who urinated over a fan on stage, partially inspired by real-life events. I enjoyed the tale and played with the characters in my mind over the following days. I said I would write more chapters if there was positive feedback.

There was.

I had plenty of comments and the story fared well in the "scoring." So, I wrote more.

Out of principle, I never release a chapter until I have written and edited the entire book. But, four extra chapters became six, and then eight, and there are now two dozen chapters on my hard drive. Over 70,000 words of golden showers, female domination and absolute filth with a plethora of additional characters. It's about 80-90% finished. Mostly, it needs editing.

I hope to complete the entire story before Easter. But I didn't want everyone who asked for a continuation to wait any longer. I promised I'd write something in the weeks after the first chapter, and it's been nearly three months. So, here is the next instalment and I will release the remainder as they become ready.

If you have not read the previous chapters, then please do so, as the following story won't make much sense.

* * *

"Morning! Your mother mentioned something about me being your boyfriend," I said to Natasha as she stirred. I put a breakfast tray on her bedside table and pulled open the curtains.

She groaned and rubbed her forehead when the bright light flooded her master bedroom. "Oh!" she moaned indignantly. "What fucking time is it?"

"Just gone nine. Have some breakfast." I pointed to the four objects I had brought her. "Cereal. Tea. Paracetamol. Water."

The naked punk rocker grumbled as she sat up in the bed and wiped her eyes. "Did she? I don't fucking remember."

"So nothing from last night comes back to you? Do you recall showing her how to give me a golden shower?" Natasha smirked through her hangover. "And ordering me to lick your mother's cunt free of piss?"

"Yeah. We had a bit too much wine, and we spent two hours talking about sex. We were too drunk and too horny. Anyway, you're a pervert and you liked it."

"I never said I didn't," I replied. "I just expected little of what happened last night. Even in my wildest dreams." She winced and then chuckled. "After breakfast, I'm going to go for a walk. You coming?"

"Yeah, maybe. Give me ten minutes to fucking wake up." I nodded and walked to the bedroom door. "Hey, are you pissed off with me?"

"No," I replied honestly. "Why would I be?"

"You enjoy being fucking humiliated. You told me. So does it fucking matter if my mum pisses on you? Or she thinks we're dating?"

"No, I just... I didn't expect her to do that or think that."

Natasha looked at me. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?" She stared, studying me intently for any emotion; the spaced-out hungover girl from sixty-seconds previous had vanished.

I stammered. "Well, I... er..." I gulped. "I love what we have. Having you in my life is wonderful and I am loving every minute because I know at some point you'll move on." She bit her lip as I leant against the door. "I would love to be your boyfriend, but I never thought you'd want to be my girlfriend. I scarcely believe you would ever consider it. Do you?"

She smiled. "I'll think about it and let you know." She turned in the bed to face away from me and pick up her tea, and I quietly closed the bedroom door to give her privacy. Twenty minutes later, the delightful woman was ready, wearing her hiking clothes and walking boots.

The air was bracing, and the wind swirled, but the breathtaking views along Ambleside made the wintery conditions insignificant. We had a pleasant walk, laughing and joking. I avoided any conversation about her family or mother, and she didn't mention it until we were nearly back at Windermere. "I'm sorry about last night. We were both pissed and mum is a fucking slut."

"Does your dad know?" I asked.

"Probably," Natasha muttered. "Not that she cares. She posed naked for an art photographer last year and she sent me the photos. I thought she was starting a fucking Onlyfans 'cause she said he's asked her to do filthier stuff. She brought us up to be fucking liberal and dad is as conservative as they get." She grinned as she looped her arm in mine. "Olga texted to ask if she can see me later. She saw my mum today, so I reckon Mum's been blabbing about last night."

"Yes, and I'm happy to have a pregnant golden shower," I replied before Natasha asked.

"You're such a fucking pervert," Natasha laughed.

"Hey, my mother warned me to stay well away from girls like you!" I joked and she gasped, smacking me playfully on the bum.

"My mother... actually, after last night, fucking forget that!"

Olga arrived at the flat after we had eaten our tea. She was shorter than Natasha, with the sparkling blue eyes that all of Natasha's family had. She had a cheeky, cherub-like face, with unkempt long dirty-blonde hair, and looked at me with some suspicion.

She lived with her mum and sister at the other side of Bowness and had waddled the one-mile in the subzero temperatures to visit our rented abode. I promised to drive her home, as the distended woman sat in the armchair in our holiday flat. Apart from her belly, she was lithe and slender, and I offered her a drink. She asked for a pint of water, but Natasha eagerly drank a bottle of wine her mother had left in the fridge.

Olga worked in the council offices in the centre of the town. She spoke about banal matters as she gulped her drink and when she finished it, I got her another one. There was something she wanted to ask, and we guessed what, but she seemed unwilling to discuss the reason for her visit. She came across like she was a sweet, naïve woman, mentioning only wholesome and familial topics.

After her second drink, she wavered and bit her lip. "Don't judge me," the innocent-looking girl muttered. "But I spoke to Auntie Ruslana earlier. There's this single guy at work who's offered me five hundred quid to sleep with him. He has a fetish for pregnant girls and he says he'll give me another one fifty if I piss on him afterwards. I've never done it before. I've read lots about it, but Ruslana said to speak to you. To you two."

"You want to know what it feels like?" Natasha replied. "Because it fucking amazing. The power over the submissive as you unload on their face. It's a rush." Olga sipped at the remnants of her drink. "Yeah, of course you can practise. Do it over, John. That's fine. He loves being pissed on."

Again, Natasha pimped out and arranged my services as a golden shower receiver to one of her relatives without giving me any say in the matter. Not that I would have objected or refused a session with the delectable innocent. My cock hardened at the thought.

Natasha explained and then directed; she ordered me to strip when Olga needed to urinate, and like with her mother, I laid in the bath with my head at the ledge end.

Olga's gravid belly was enormous, and she looked ready to drop, rather than six months gone; her engorged breasts, with two of the biggest areola I had ever seen, begged to be sucked. I wanted to play and enjoy them, and the sight of her pregnant frame was provocative and arousing. Natasha held her cousin's hand, and the young woman stood in the bath with the claim that her "fat body wouldn't fit on the shelf!"

She had a smattering of pale brown pubic hair, trimmed slightly unevenly. I looked up at her cunt and watched as she froze. "Just let go. Piss on the fucking pervert. Drench the bitch." Her feet were on either side of my head, squeezing my ears.

"I can't. I never pee standing up. It won't come."

"Then squat!" My lodger snapped. She held on to Olga's hand as the pregnant 20-year-old lowered her knees onto my arms, pinning me into the bath.

Olga sighed as I stared directly into pink slit. Her arsehole puckered as she tried to release her muscles and groaned as a gentle stream landed on my throat. Olga giggled. My eyes took in the luscious folds of her splayed pussy and she leant forward a little more, resting her hands on the side of the bath. And then her flow started.

Natasha barked at her. "That's it. Cover him."

She covered my lips, and Olga's honey-coloured piss was sweeter than Natasha's. A gentle saccharine edge smothered the acrid bitterness that I eagerly gulped down and enjoyed as it spattered over me.

It was filthy; I had only met Olga properly that day and I heartily quaffed her pee. Yet, I longed for her to plant her cunt on my lips and press down on my face. I wanted to run my tongue over her slit and probe her feminine folds. I wanted to feel her orgasm.

Her bladder emptied far quicker than Natasha's; after a couple of mouthfuls and a small covering, her flood ebbed, and she ran her fingers through her crotch. "Does he always get hard when you piss on him?"

"Yeah," Natasha replied. "And Gary did too. He used to fucking wank himself off when I pissed on him." My lodger held Olga's hand. "Just sit back. John loves to suck the piss off your cunt."

Olga's giant frame rested heavily on my forehead, pressing my skull against the cold, hard bath. But the smell of her luscious pussy was delicious. The taste of her arousal and her waste as my tongue swept over her young slit was sheer heaven.

I couldn't see much, I could just smell and taste wet cunt. Trapped by her body, resting on my shoulders as I devoured her wonderful treat. She sighed and mewled as my lips massaged her clit; I probe her aroused pleats and ridges, sliding my tongue over her slippery moistness.

She rocked her hips gently, forcing my skull against the cold, hard enamel, as I feasted on Olga's piquant muff. I could have stayed there all evening as I went down on my lodger's expectant cousin. My cock itched for attention, but both women ignored it, as I devoured the succulence of the young lady. She squealed as I flicked her button and her body shook with a climax.

Natasha helped her pregnant cousin to her feet, and she stepped out of the bath. My golden shower from my friend was more routine. My lodger sat on the side of the bath and coated me in her watery piss that I loved so much. I caught several squirts of her harsh, acidic liquid that scorched the back of my throat as I gleefully drank it.

"He's..."

"... quite the pervert," Natasha finished for Olga. "Nasty little pig." My cheeks burnt at the description Natasha gave about me, but I didn't care. I was underneath the punk rocker luxuriating in her excretions, gulping down mouthfuls of her pee. "But I enjoy dominating men and so we like it."

Natasha wiped herself with toilet tissue after her bladder ran dry, and they didn't even look at me as they left, chatting. I showered and returned to the lounge, dressed in just a towel. "How did Olga's piss compare to mine?"

"Yours is a fine wine," I replied. "Olga's was sweeter and less bitter."

"Oh," Olga muttered. "How sweet? It shouldn't be sugary at all. My midwife warned me about that and made me do a urine test ages ago."

"Not really, really sweet. Not like dessert wine," I said, continuing my oenophile's references, "but it was noticeably sweeter than Natasha's."

"She drinks too much bitter beer," Olga teased, but she made a note on her phone as she looked at me. Natasha's cousin stayed for a little while longer before I drove the young lady home in my car.

"When are you meeting with your guy?" I asked her as she directed me to her estate.

"Next week. Hugh wants me to come for the day. I don't get what you enjoy out of it," she admitted. "But he's offered to give me a hundred and fifty quid for pissing on him. That's easy money." She gestured down the road. "He lives in a big house he got from his parents and gives me a lift to work. He's nice enough, but strange. But it has to be me."

"Maybe he's infatuated with you," I suggested.

"Like you are with Natasha," Olga replied instantly, and pointed to a terraced house. "She told me about your office." I must have blushed as I spluttered in response. "I think it's rather sweet. You would make a good couple. Auntie thinks so."

"She's a very talented singer," I muttered. "She has fans from all over the world."

"Sure," Olga said with a smirk. "And she also dominates you and you will do anything for her. You're so pussy whipped!" She chuckled and thanked me for the lift, and I wondered what Natasha thought of me. Maybe I was infatuated with the unpredictable punk rocker; I loved spending time with her.

When I got back to the flat, my lodger had readied herself for bed; her indecent nightdress left little to the imagination, and I ogled the pink-haired beauty for a moment. "Get your fucking arse in there," she demanded as she stood in the doorway to the master bedroom.

"But..."

"Don't you want to use these?" Natasha asked, swinging on the door and holding out a packet of condoms. She stared at me, with her foot resting on the doorframe, and her knee bent, watching my gaze traverse the sexual seductress. Pure sizzling sexiness. A short, satin pink chemise, tied up the side and only just covering her bosom and her pussy.

She saw the lust in my eyes as I scooped her up and flung her onto the double bed. She laughed as her body bounced on the mattress and I gulped, focusing on her, like she was prey. I hurled my clothes into the corner of the room and plunged my face between her legs, kissing her inner thigh and her hairless mons.

She mewed as she exhaled, as my fingers danced over her slit while I teased her. My lips skirted around her clit as I smelt her wetness. I wanted her. I knew I had wanted to screw that punk rock temptress from the moment I saw her sing a rendition of Bad Reputation in the backstreet music venue seven years ago.

For years, I had fantasised about her. Natasha had been a constant source of masturbatory fantasies, as I imagined going down on her and screwing her. She was my dream woman, and as amazing as my perverted mind had envisaged. I adored her heavenly feminine sweetness as I savoured every taste of the pink-haired punk rocker. My mouth skirted over her slit and her pussy, teasing my kinky lodger. I wanted this to last a lifetime; I would remember it until the day I died.

She gasped and squirmed as my mouth moved closer and closer to her button. She ran her hands through my short hair and gave an audible groan as my tongue flicked her clit. My middle finger gently massaged her inside of her cunt, twisting as it slid into her slippery opening.

One finger became two, and I probed for her G-Spot; Samantha loved me to press and rotate my fingertips over her sensitive wall, and I eagerly searched for Natasha's highly responsive erogenous zone. She squealed when I pressed against her ridge, groaning loudly as my lips lapped at her clit and my fingers worked her pussy.

My left hand explored; I ran my fingertips over her soft, satiny nightdress and pawed at her nipples as she rocked her body. Her breathing became ragged and her moans loud and audible. The first orgasm squeezed my fingers as her cunt pulsed and quivered. Her second caused her to tremble and then we lost count. I alternated between finger-fucking my lodger, playing with her G-Spot and lapping at her clit.

She tasted divine. A musky sexuality that left my erection pressed against the duvet, leaking pre-cum. I could have done that all day, serving climax after climax to the wondrous musician, but she stopped me. "Too much, fuck me," she demanded and scrabbled in the bed to find a condom.

I may not have used a rubber since I first met Samantha nine years previously, but penetrating Natasha felt incredible, even with the latex sheath. Her muscles kissed and massaged my prick as I guided it into her, and it slipped into her warm wetness.

We stared at each other; she gripped my nipples and squeezed them until I squealed in pain, and thrust deep into her. I didn't intend to jackhammer into her, as given my state of arousal I'd climax instantly, but she demanded that I screw her harder, faster and deeper.

She told me to pound her and use her.

Natasha called for me to fuck her with wild abandon, and, for the first time in years, I did just that. I desperately and passionately screwed the object of my fantasies, banging my prick into her wanton hole as quickly and ferociously as I could. She gasped, catching her breath as I pounded her.

But I felt my orgasm well inside of me. I desperately hung onto the climax, wanting to delay my peak, but fucking that woman in that way was too much stimulation and I filled the teat with my cum.

She gasped as I did. "Oh God," she muttered, and I collapsed in the bed beside her, panting furiously. She ran her hand over my dick, with the condom hanging limply from my spent prick. She watched me tie a knot in the end of the rubber sheath and she put her head on my chest.

"Thanks," I told her. "I enjoyed that."

"Good," Natasha replied. "Me too. You lick pussy good. Even if you come too quickly."

We laughed, showered and cuddled up together in the bed. It took me ages to go to sleep as I kept looking at the beauty beside me. It didn't feel real or believable.

We had sex again the following morning, with Natasha on top; she threw herself with wild abandon as she enthusiastically and energetically rode my cock until I came into the condom. She sat on my face until I had eaten her out to a couple of orgasms, and we rose from the bed, sated and satisfied.

It was New Year's Eve, and after lunch Natasha met an old school friend in Bowness. She joked they had a sudden realisation that they had a shared interest and didn't elaborate further. I think we both benefited from a few hours away from each other, as it gave me time to collect my thoughts. I took a hike to the top of a hill and found an old-fashioned pub. I settled beside a roaring fire with a beer, some dry roasted peanuts, and my book.

It was the first women I had slept with, apart from Samantha, for almost a decade. For years, I had admired her voice, her personality and her music; the rebellious woman had ensnared my attention, driven by anger and hedonistic pursuits. The night before felt like a dream.

I returned before it went dark, and Natasha had a mischievous smile. She had been up to something. I cooked some tea, packed up our stuff, and we walked to Joseph's small apartment on an adjacent street via the off license, to spend the evening with. We had a few drinks, played some Cards Against Humanity and enjoyed the company of Natasha's brother and his beau.

Natasha took a selfie at midnight and scowled at me as I watched. "Faye and Vixen want us each to do a fucking Twitter post every shitting day," she snapped.

"Ahh, like a New Year Resolution?" I asked cheerfully, and her scowl deepened. Her annoyance dissipated when she had another drink. At 1am, we walked back to our flat, and slept in the same bed once more. Natasha curled up in my arms, after kissing me good night, and we drifted into sleep.

In the morning, I made breakfast and moved our bags to the car. I tidied the apartment, and Natasha emerged with a supermarket bag. "Go to the toilet on the toilet," she demanded and stood in the bathroom's doorway as I emptied my bladder for the long ride back. "I met Susie yesterday."

"Your friend from High School?"

"Yes. She texted me after that fucking video went viral to ask if I was into piss play with my boyfriend. She split up with her lying husband, and they were big watersports fetishists. So I want a little bet." She reached into the bag and pulled out an adult-sized nappy and a pair of pink plastic pants. "On the ride down, whoever fills up their nappy the most wins. We'll weigh 'em when we get home. She had some spare shit she let me have."